Quietus
by juno57
Summary: The means to an end. A broken man was more than willing to accept her offer. Spoilers for end of ACIII– you've been warned. Desmond


**Ubisoft owns**

**Lyrics included are from ****_Bleeding Out_****, ****_Nothing Left to Say_****, and ****_Demons, _****which are written/owned by Imagine Dragons **

**They are also recommended to listen to while reading for ultimate sensations. **

* * *

** ~In memorandum of Desmond Miles~**

** ~1987-2012~**

** Requiescat in Pace**

** Salvator Nostrus**

** Idoneus Assassino**

** Super Omina**

** Viri**

* * *

He stood motionless before her; dry lips slightly parted as a long exhale passed through them. The compilations of anxiety knotting in his stomach from the months he had strived for this finale slowly unravelled.

"All I need is but a spark– your touch, Desmond." She repeated in a murmur, the furtive yearning in her flat eyes attempting to convince him by sheer willpower alone.

**_You tell me to hold on _**

Soft depressions on his shoulder eventually tore his attention from the entrancing ebb and flow of the pedestal's cycling aura before him. Turning from its light, he slowly faced the worry-lined face of his father, unable in his current state to understand the warped sense of logic that existed in those indigenous to the First Civilization. The eyes widening at the corners should have felt like a punch to the stomach, considering the progress they had made in the past weeks. Instead, there was only senseless content of numbness.

**_But innocence is gone _**

"Son– please, don't…" His eyes creased in earnest, "We'll find another way–"

**_And what was right is wrong_**

Desmond felt his fingers close around the soft material of his hoodie, the strength in the grasp striving, but ultimately failing, to shake him from the single track his mind had chosen to follow.

The assuredness he felt failed to manifest in his fatigued voice, "I'm tired of finding other ways. How many years have I been running from what was directly in front of me?" William watched in disbelief, " I ran from you, from mom. I ran from my problems– so I thought." He paused, lowering his head with a soft shake, " The answers were always right in front of me. You, mom… Lucy… all of that shit could have been avoided if I hadn't been a fucking coward." Raising his head, his eyes held the watery gaze of his father, "Not again."

Behind him, Juno shifted behind the pedestal, her translucent eyes flickering between father and son, and back again.

"I hate to say it Bill, but he's right– I mean… about this," Rebecca added, "I've been watching the coverage recently; tremors off the charts up in Canada, storm fronts the size of Europe forming over the northern and southern hemisphere– we're out of time."

**_They say it's what you make_**

Shaun scoffed, "Look that's all great Rebecca, but we're not even sure this bloody thing is going to–"

**_I say it's up to fate_**

"All of you, please– just… just get the hell out of here!" Desmond gestured with his hands, fingers spread in an effort to force them into dispersing.

**_It's woven in my soul_**

"There's nothing left to say, is there?" William asked, his tone broken.

**_I need to let you go_**

The cold fatigue in Desmond's eyes answered his question with silence, the trenches under them shadowing all but the hint of gold that lingered in his irises. "Please," he whispered softer, "get as far away as you can, and know this is–was what I wanted."

**_I can't escape this now_**

As he turned his back with finality on his comrades, he tied to ignore the sharp sobs echoing off of the walls as Rebecca was herded out by the others. His sleep-deprived eyes lifted slowly to match Juno's, and his mind flickered with a twinge of uncertainty.

**_Unless you show me how_**

Gesturing to the device in front of her, the faintest of smiles tugged her lips cruelly. Desmond fought with the idea that she was enjoying this perhaps a bit too much for her apparent sincerity. The flicker of its soft blue light filled his gaze, his pupils shrinking to the smallest of pinpricks, yet he refused to blink. Refused to look away from his quietus.

Her unsounded satisfaction was palpable as he closed the remaining distance to his release, his right hand rising in the motions of a macabre pledge; ready to seal his fate long since decided. Still refusing to close, his eyes remained locked on his goal, but they did not see it; could not focus upon it. His mind was, strangely, calmed by it all. How long had he waited for this? For any form of catharsis? Since he had passed out on the granite 300 meters behind him. Since his hidden blade had willingly taken Lucy's life, and he collapsed next to her as she bled out. Since he had woken up in Abstergo. Even since he had left the farm at the ripe age of 16, he had known, actions such as this would not go unpunished.

Could not be lived without restitution.

**_This is my kingdom come_**

_I'm giving up now. I'm not ashamed of it. I've wasted myself for this fucking goose-chase for too long now. God knows I've been to hell and back– it's been enough for one life. _

_I just want to rest._

**_This is my kingdom come_**

His head continued to pound, as if to remind him of the constant ache he would miss should he follow through. His legs stood, rooted to the ground; firmly planted in a tangible representation of his decision.

**_So I bear my skin _**

Making the faintest contact; trembling fingers met with the pedestal's warm, pulsating surface, and yet, seemed to rip through his very soul.

**_And I count my sins _**

His eyes widened fully–inhaled sharply as the pain scorched over, under, even inside his arm, spreading at a supernatural speed.

**_And I close my eyes _**

And yet, as the pain tore his insides out, and wrought his mind to shudder against its own actions, a corner of it realized the end was in sight.

An end.

Rest.

**_And I take it in_**

How many lives had he ended– had his ancestors ended? All for what? A greater good? No. They had killed so they could continue in their destinies. They died to secure the destiny of their world.

And true to his lineage, his life too would he give to save his world.

A dry, achy cough burned up his throat, yet his hand remained, fixed unwavering to his demise. Reaching out, and clasping around the other wrist, his hand sought both the intent on removing it, and securing it to the pedestal. His eyes ached, and his skin before him scorched with a perceptible scent. Acrid and parching, he again felt the urge to cough, to interrupt the unending pulses of excruciating self-inflicted torment.

As his knees buckled and gave out, his form crumpling to the cold stone with a nauseating sickly thud, eyes rolled back into their sockets. His mind had unravelled through her process. Pain had provided as the merciful deliverer, his consciousness lost moments before his brain ceased to function, de-materialising in an appalling absence of form.

In the quiet of the Grand Temple's agéd halls, he had at last been saved. Been given what had always eluded him.

He had found it.

Quietus.

* * *

_ This wasn't the life I deserved. _

_ This wasn't the death I deserve._

_ But I'll take it._


End file.
